


teeth and fury

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, i was just trying to make my friend cry, there is literally nothing good or fun about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8091469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Adéwalé didn’t hate much, mostly because if he allowed everything that inconvenienced him to turn into hatred, he would be a very angry man.





	

Adéwalé didn’t hate much, mostly because if he allowed everything that inconvenienced him to turn into hatred, he would be a very angry man. Instead, he reserved his hatred for very important things. Slave owners, for instance, or any man who lifted himself above others based on nothing more than the colour of his skin. He hated Edward crawling into bed with cold hands and shoving them against Adéwalé’s chest to warm them up. He hated seeing the Jackdaw take a hit; and he hated losing a crew member.

 

-

 

“It’s a small boat to be carrying that much cargo,” Edward said, lowering the spyglass, “must be pretty desperate times for the British.”

Adéwalé didn’t respond, even when Edward turned to him and asked if they should take it. There was something that didn’t sit right with him; the British weren’t usually the ones to take desperate risks like this, unlike the Spanish, who covered the waters with overstocked gunboats that barely needed one hit before their own gunpowder reserves set them alight.

“Am I to take your silence as a yes?” Edward asked with a smirk, crossing his arms and taking a step towards Adéwalé.

Under any other circumstances, Adéwalé probably would have gone along with Edward’s little game, but he didn’t feel much in the mood for taking this chance, not after the trouble the Queen Anne’s Revenge had gotten into only days earlier. The sea felt different, felt more dangerous.

“I think we should leave this one, Captain.”

Edward frowned, glancing back towards the tiny boat in the distance. “Mate, it’s tiny and defenceless, wouldn’t take us more than ten minutes.”

With a shrug, Adéwalé looked out over the water. “I can’t explain it, something just feels wrong. The decision is up to you.”

Adéwalé could feel Edward’s eyes drilling holes into the back of his head, as if he was some complicated puzzle that Edward was trying to solve by staring at it as aggressively as possible. Adéwalé knew that Edward wasn’t stupid, they both had the same kind of gut feeling when it came to the ocean, but he also knew that Edward was reckless. Where Adéwalé saw the value in calm and planning, Edward preferred to act first, think later. Sometimes, it was a gift that got them out of time-sensitive situations. Other times, it was a curse that got Edward several scars and black eyes.

“Maybe-” Edward started, but was cut off by the cry of a crew member.

“Cargo ship dead ahead, Captain!”

A few excited cheers rose from the deck, and whatever Edward had been about to say died in his mouth, and was replaced with a cocky grin.

“Why don’t we pay them a visit?”

 

-

 

Edward came to life while he was fighting, and it was incredible to watch. Adéwalé did his best to cover his captain, but Edward moved like a cyclone; randomly, and leaving a wake of devastation in his path. His twin swords may as well have been extensions of his limbs, cutting down enemies like they were made of water. The cocky grin was gone, replaced with an expression of complete concentration, only the smallest lilt of a smirk visible.

“Alright, Adé?” Edward yelled at Adéwalé, cutting down his opponent with ease.

Adéwalé grit his teeth, locked in a fierce battle with two English crew members, not gracing Edward with a response.

“You’re doing fantastic,” Edward drawled, countering a swipe from a new attacker.

With a grunt, Adéwalé lunged forward, taking advantage of a weak spot in one of the men’s defence. With his other sword, he blocked a strike from the second man, spinning around to catch him in the throat.

“I told you this was a good idea, mate, look at how much-”

A sickening crack echoed through the sea, bringing complete silence after. Adéwalé spun around to face Edward, whose mouth hung open. The smirk was gone, his eyes wide and afraid. One hand held a sword loosely, the other clutching his chest. As if in slow motion, Edward pulled his hand away, and blood bloomed in a violent, awful red across his chest.

Adéwalé was so frozen with shock that it wasn’t until Edward stumbled forward that he moved. He dashed towards him, grabbing Edward by the arms, but the momentum of Edward’s fall had Adéwalé dropping to his knees, cradling Edward’s shoulders gently. He held Edward close, one arm around him, the other trembling and trying to stop the flow of blood from his heart.

“Adé,” Edward mumbled hazily, blood beginning to bubble at his lips. He tried to lift his hand to touch Adéwalé’s face, but the effort proved too much, and he settled for resting it against his arm.

Adéwalé shook his head, brushing Edward’s hair out of his face. “Stay still,  _ arakunrin _ .”

“Arakunrin,” Edward repeated clumsily, “I k-know this one.”

The blood was still seeping through Adéwalé’s fingers, and he did his best to smile softly at Edward. “You do.”

A shaky breath rattled its way out of out of Edward’s lips, and he looked as though he was fighting hard to keep his eyes open, but he still managed an uneven smile.

“ _ Brother. _ ”

The word was cut off abruptly as Edward’s attempts to breathe ended in a wet cough, and blood stained his lips. His eyes widened frantically, a fist curling in Adéwalé’s shirt. There was nothing Adéwalé could do but bring his captain in, holding him close and tight as he felt Edward’s body fight desperately to keep him alive. Adéwalé buried his face in Edward’s shoulder, and felt the pulse from his neck beat unevenly and slowly until it faded away to nothing.

For a few seconds, Adéwalé couldn’t hear a thing over the roaring in his head; a vile, dark, hateful thing that started around his ears and travelled down his spine, into his limbs and reaching the hands that were still clutching Edward like he was the only solid thing left. He laid Edward down gently, his whole body numb as he shut Edward’s sightless eyes.

When he stood, the hate had subsided from his head, coming to rest in his fists and chest as a heavy, cold weight. Sound returned to him, and he turned. Most of the English crew had surrendered, letting themselves be held at gunpoint by the pirates. A small crowd of his crew stood in a half circle around Adéwalé, looking down at Edward’s body.

“Where is the man that shot him?” Adéwalé asked in a voice so dangerously calm, several of his crew flinched.

“There was one man, with a musket at the head of the ship. He’s down on the deck with the rest of the surrenders.”

Adéwalé nodded once. “Show me him.”

The man in question was easy to spot once Adéwalé got a good look at them, he was the one most visibly afraid, the one who practically whimpered under Adéwalé’s glare. As he got close, Adéwalé felt the hate rise again like bile in his throat. He stood above the man who had killed Edward, the man who dared not look him in the eyes.

“What is your name?” Adéwalé asked, his voice still so eerily calm despite the storm raging inside of him.

“S-Smith,” the man spluttered pathetically.

Adéwalé lent down so that Smith was forced to look at him. “Tell me, Smith, do you fear death?”

“Yes,” Smith said, but it sounded more like a sob.

“Do you fear the death of your crewmates?”

“Yes.”

Adéwalé smiled, all fury and teeth. “Then you understand how my crew and I must feel right now. You killed our captain, Smith, and that’s something no kind of surrender can ever forgive.”

He wanted to say more, maybe tell Smith something about the man he had killed. Tell him about how Edward may not have been a good man, but he was a  _ better _ man than every Brit in the Caribbean. Tell him how Edward may have taken the mantle of Captain, but he made sure to give Adéwalé the best bed on the ship. Tell him that Edward was made of something so full of life he seemed immortal, and how did Smith feel with the blood of a God on his hands? But he didn’t, because Smith didn’t deserve it.

So as he stood, Adéwalé locked away every precious thing he knew about Edward Kenway, and pulled out one of his pistols.


End file.
